


A Wicked Liaison

by thisbluespirit



Category: The Avengers (TV), Torchwood
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Ficlet, Humor, Unconventional Courtship Generator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-30 01:23:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15085937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisbluespirit/pseuds/thisbluespirit
Summary: From this summary:277) A Wicked Liaison by Christine MerrillToshiko Sato, Duchess of Wellford, has always been impeccably behaved. So why does she suddenly feel a wild urge to kick over the traces?John Steed is a mysterious figure. Gentleman by day, he steals secrets for the government by night.When Tosh finds a man in her bedroom late at night, her first instinct is to call for help. But something stops her. The thief apologises and gracefully takes his leave… and a kiss for good measure. And Tosh knows that won’t be the last she sees of this intriguing rogue…





	A Wicked Liaison

**Author's Note:**

> Written for JohnAmendAll's birthday!

They weren’t supposed to take alien tech home, but even Tosh did it from time to time. Sometimes it came in handy, like tonight when she woke up with a jolt at some unearthly hour to find a man in her bedroom, rifling through her chest of drawers.

“Hey,” she said, and pulled out the laser gun from under her pillow. (Well, it was probably a laser gun. She was still working on an exact classification, but she couldn’t always be the one professional person in the team. Other than Ianto, of course.) “Stop that and get out, or I shoot.”

“Do forgive me,” said the shadowy figure. “It’s merely that whatever is causing the disappearance of several of our most eminent scientists seems to be located in this room.”

“In my underwear drawer?” said Tosh, and then had to stop and mentally double check as to what, exactly, she might have stashed away in there. Alien tech just had that kind of effect on everyone. “Seriously?”

Her intruder removed his bowler hat, and said, as if shocked and hurt that she would harbour such suspicions of a burglar of his calibre, “My dear lady, I assure you, I am not rifling through your unmentionables. The signal seems to be coming from the middle drawer. But you must forgive me. I had assumed the house was unoccupied – last time I checked it had been on the market for at least two years. You have my deepest apologies. Had I known, I would simply have knocked and asked.”

“Yeah, right,” said Tosh. “This place has been rented out for years –” She stopped. “Oh. _When_ are you from?”

“1967,” said the man. He paused and added politely, “When are _you_ from?”

“Twenty-first century,” said Tosh. “When everything changes. It must be the rift causing trouble again.”

The man nodded. “Ah,” he said. “Of course. I should have realised immediately when we discovered the signal was coming from Cardiff. Don’t tell me you are from the dreaded Institute?”

“Yes, or at least, sort of. It’s got better now. Mostly.” Tosh hopped out of bed, turned on the light and joined him in the search, fishing out a small metallic box with a red flashing light on it.

He beamed. “Ah, splendid. That would be it.” He held it up to his ear and shook it, while Tosh winced and ducked. She looked up again to see him still in one piece. He examined the artefact again and pressed something. The light went off.

“You’d better hurry if you want to get back home to the right time.”

He nodded, and retrieved his bowler hat. “Yes, of course. Would you be so good as to let me use the door this time?”

Tosh grinned and ushered him out. At the doorstep, he leant over and kissed her cheek.

“I’m glad to see that the Institute is going to be in such good hands in the future,” he said, tipping his hat to her. “It’s almost reassuring.” With that, he vanished into the night.

 

The next night a crate of champagne arrived on her doorstep, tied up with red ribbon, courtesy of Harrods, and with a note on top that read, “Thank you for all your help. John Steed.”

“How the _hell_?” said Tosh, and then shrugged. “Thanks,” she said into the ether, because, after all, it was Cardiff, and you never knew.


End file.
